Chain vs. Local: Which Makes the Best Western Omelette?
The Western Omelette was invented at Slim’s Egg Emporium & Iron Works in 1911 in Largo, a city on Florida’s western Coast. Wait, what? Check that. I’ve just been told that the Western Omelette was created in the American West, probably by cattle drivers and/or Chinese railroad cooks. Glad we got that straightened out. Western omelettes are also called Denver omelettes — the names are basically interchangeable. But here on Florida’s western coast, at least two restaurants draw a distinction. Along with the ham, onions, peppers and cheese found in the Denver Omelette, Egg Haven Cafe and Metro Diner add an ingredient to make theirs a Western: Mushrooms. (Not a fan, but I’ve come this far.) Metro even covers its with salsa. Huh. Could be a local thing, like putting potato salad in Greek salads. Okay, I’m already too far in the weeds. Let’s get started. METRO DINER We arrived at the Metro Diner on 4th Street in St. Pete — one of two in the Tampa Bay area — at 6 p.m. on Tuesday and sat in a booth with a straight back and hard leather bottom. I’ll ask for a table next time. I rarely eat breakfast for dinner, but scheduling required me to do so. Metro offers breakfast from open to close. Our server, Jessica, had a sunny disposition and was eager to make sure our visit was tasty and pleasant. I ordered the Western Omelet ($11.99) with home fries and an English muffin. I requested the eggs be cooked soft, but not runny. Jessica asked me if I wanted the salsa on top or or on the side. However you usually serve it, I replied. On top, it was. Appearance An altogether appealing presentation. Western omelettes are not part of my regular dining regimen, but even so, I’ve never had one with salsa. I liked the idea — and the look of it. Texture and Taste Although it didn’t take long for our meals to come out, my omelette was weirdly not hot. In fact, it was barely warm. Jessica stopped by and asked, cheerily, “How is everything?” I replied, politely, that my omelette was strangely not hot. She leapt into action and had a hot one in front of me in a few short minutes. The mild salsa really worked, and thankfully did not give the meal a Tex-Mex edge. The eggs were cooked to my liking — I hate when they’re dry(ish). I would’ve preferred the cheese to be more present, and the mushrooms to be less so. The large slices dominated the innards. The home fries were cooked firmly, with no outer shell. Kudos. I could taste real potato. EGG HAVEN CAFE Egg Haven, located on 66th Street in St. Pete, has the look of a ’70s era roadhouse diner. As it turns out, the place has only been open three years. The restaurant is a retrofitted IHop, which helps explain the, um, vintage appearance. The breakfast-centric concept has been successful enough that two more have opened since — in Clearwater and Largo. We arrived on Wednesday at 11:30, well past the time when I eat a big breakfast. We sat at a booth in the no-frills interior, a booth that was marginally more comfortable than the one at Metro Diner. Our server, Leti, had a sunny disposition and was eager to make sure our visit was tasty and pleasant. Together, and on consecutive days, Jessica and Leti shattered the myth of diner waitresses being irascible and disinterested. I ordered the Western Omelet ($13.99) with home fries and an English muffin. Appearance This dish looked disheveled in comparison to the one at Metro, but appetizing all the same. The meat and veggies were visible through the egg, a good sign. I was not, however, encouraged by the crispy-looking shells of the home fries. Texture and Taste The omelette was hot, so we were off to a good start. The cheese was very there, and gooey enough so that at one point Bonnie told me to napkin some off my beard. There were far fewer mushrooms — thank you — and they were chopped into smaller pieces. The ham had a smoky flavor that stood out and the peppers offered some welcome crackle. Overall, there seemed to be more stuff inside this omelette than the competition’s. The home fries had plenty of charred, crunchy pieces, requiring me to pick through and find ones I preferred — and then those were kind of mushy. So Which of These Restaurants Makes the Best Western Omelette? Hmm, this is a tough call. I dug both of my Western omelettes and was pleased to learn that I could enjoy them outside the breakfast time window. Metro had the superior potatoes, and the salsa was a welcome wild card. Egg Haven’s omelette was more substantial with a better combo of flavors. But I left most of the home fries on the plate. Metro’s meal came out lukewarm, although it was only a minor inconvenience. Egg Haven’s came out hot. The service was superlative in both restaurants. Re-checking the scorecards, the split decision goes to … Egg Haven Cafe.* *The Official Friday Food Fight Policy is to not issue ties, but I could have done so this week.
Tampa Bay vs. Charleston in a Tussle Over Fried Green Tomatoes
Well, I’ll be … fried green tomatoes did not originate in the South. So say most food historians, including Charleston-based Robert F. Moss, who wrote in a well-researched column titled “The Fried Green Tomato Swindle,” “By all accounts, they entered the American culinary scene in the Northeast and Midwest, perhaps with a link to Jewish immigrants.” The dish became associated with the South in the wake of movie Fried Green Tomatoes, the 1992 film version of Fannie Flagg’s novel Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, published in ’87 and set in Birmingham, Alabama. Regardless of their beginnings, fried green tomatoes don’t do much for me — because where I grew up in the Northeast, tomatoes were ripe red. And never breaded and fried. In another edition of Tampa Bay vs. The World, I’m featuring FGTs because of a recent trip to Charleston, where the city rewrote its charter to mandate that every restaurant in town have them on the menu. Our contestants are: Noble Crust, one of the few restaurants in Tampa Bay with FGTs on its everyday bill of fare; and 82 Queen, a pillar of “Lowcountry cuisine” in Charleston’s French Quarter since 1982. A mismatch? Let’s see. NOBLE CRUST We arrived at 5:30 on a Thursday and grabbed two seats at the far end of the bar. The St. Pete Noble Crust is nearly always busy, and often generates a serious din. Not so on this visit. We ordered the F.G.B.L.T. ($13), Noble Crust’s spin that includes tabasco honey-glazed pork belly and pimento cheese. I also got a Big Storm Wavemaker beer ($5, happy hour price). Appearance An altogether attractive presentation, although the cubes of pork belly on top showed plenty of fat, causing a tinge of concern. Texture and Taste This version certainly benefited from Noble Crust’s customization, owing mostly to that old adage: Everything is better with bacon. While I would ordinarily be put off by the amount of pure fat in the pork belly, this case was different. The fat melded with the meatier part of the cubes and added a lush savoriness, which was punctuated by the sweetness and gently spicy heat of the glaze. None of this overshadowed the tomatoes, which provided a sharp tang and plenty of crunch, offset by the creaminess of the mildly flavored pimento. All told, a panoply of tastes and textures, complex and well balanced. 82 QUEEN At 7:45 p.m. on a Wednesday, our Lyft driver dropped us off at a black awning with a gold “82” on it, the restaurant’s only sign. My dinner companion, Jim Ripley, has been a friend since elementary school. We walked through an alley with scarred walls into the bar, where I ordered a Muddled Creek ($14), a specialty cocktail built around Knob Creek bourbon. (Jim and I basically split the drink, and both of us found it too heavy.) After about 15 minutes, we were showed to a table on the far wall of the tastefully appointed upstairs dining room. Only a few tables were occupied. The intimate environment suited us. Our server, a young woman named Gabrielle, was delightful. She played along easily with our stupid jokes. I ordered the Fried Green Tomatoes ($16) as a starter before my entree of Crispy Roasted Duck. Appearance This rendition didn’t have the panache of the competition’s. The tomato was sandwiched between a bed of stone-ground grits and a scoop of pimento cheese on top. The tomato-bacon jam sat off to the side. Texture and Taste Way too much pimento. It had a pasty texture that affected the entire dish. The grits were fine, if nondescript. The tomato seemed an afterthought, virtually lost amid the other ingredients. Everything was squished together, giving my forkfuls a monochromatic, mushy character. The jam, more like a sauce, added a welcome sweetness. And the Winner of the Tampa Bay vs. Charleston FGT Tussle Is … Noble Crust. An easy call, but with a couple of caveats: 82 Queen’s version may well have been more true to the tradition of the dish. Noble Crust gained an everything-is-better-with-bacon advantage by including pork belly. An unfair advantage? Perhaps. How would the St. Pete restaurant’s version have fared without the fatty meat? My gut tells me that I still would have preferred it over 82 Queen’s.
Clash of the Calzones
My attitude toward calzones boils down to this: Why eat a pizza that’s been rolled up into a blob? Okay, it’s not that simple. But it’s not that far off. So this week, I endeavored to find out if my simplistic understanding of the calzone is unfair to the centuries-old baked turnover made with pizza dough. Most histories agree that the calzone dates back to the 1700s in Naples, Italy, and was intended as a food to eat on the go. Then I read this: “At this time, calzones were actually formed by simply folding an uncooked pizza in half before baking it.” A-ha! I chose two pizza-centric restaurants as contestants: Slice of the Burg in St. Pete and Buona Ristorante on St. Pete Beach. SLICE OF THE BURG Any restaurant in which an adorable 6-year-old girl initiates a staring contest with me from across the room is okay by me. After a few minutes of meeting Riley’s evil-eye challenge, I feigned defeat, and went over and chatted with her mom. It’s surprise encounters like these that help make restaurant visits memorable. Slice of the Burg is wedged into a line of small eateries and shops in the Gateway Crossings shopping center in far northeast St. Pete. It was clean and well lit at 6:15 last Friday. We ordered at the counter: a Whole Calzone with peppers, onions, tomatoes and Italian sausage for a total of $24.98. I added a can of Modelo ($2.99). We had a seat at a red table. Appearance When the server placed the calzone on the table, our first reaction was, “Whoa!” The thing was enormous. Held at the proper angle, it could’ve blotted out the sun. The beast was cut into four (enormous) pieces. The side of red sauce looked tiny sitting next to it. People from two tables over commented on how gigantuan the calzone was. Texture and Taste Try to refrain from wearing nice clothes when eating SotB’s calzone. It was greasy. But to the restaurant’s credit, it had a roll of paper towels within reach. You must like cheese. A no-holds-barred quantity of mozzarella and fluffy ricotta were blended together, befitting this mondo-turnover. The vegetables were fresh and barely cooked — adding a pleasurably crisp contrast — and the sausage was tasty but not spicy. Importantly, the add-ons were spread throughout, so I didn’t run into large chunks of just cheese and pizza dough. The sauce was pleasingly on the sweet side. Bonnie and I — mostly I — made a considerable dent in this calzone, but still brought a sizable chunk home. And somehow I left the restaurant without a single grease stain on my T-shirt. BUONA RISTORANTE At 6 p.m. on Monday, the weather was gorgeous, so we chose a table outside in a patio area in front of the place. Buona is located about a mile north of the Don Cesar in a Dolphin Village shopping center. At intervals, we heard a man singing at a distance — solo, with great gusto, but badly. I couldn’t identify the type of music other than … strange. This intrusive soundtrack was annoying, but I can’t blame the restaurant, although I would have preferred a staring contest with an adorable 6-year-old. Bonnie and I ordered a calzone with the same extras as SotB for a total of $20.36, but we had to add $1.25 for a side of red sauce. Appearance This one was more attractive than SotB’s, but we’re grading on a curve because, let’s face it, calzones are intrinsically ugly. Buona’s version looked more rustic, more … Italian. It was also considerably smaller, which was not necessarily a bad thing. Texture and Taste I started with an end piece — easier to hold — and found mostly cheese and crust, which was not terribly satisfying. So I cut off a chunk in the middle and ate with a knife and fork. The blend of flavors was gratifying, the veggies nicely crisp, the sausage adding moments of sharpness. The crust had a hint of crackle on the outside. The sauce skewed more acidic than sweet. And the calzone wasn’t greasy. Bonnie and I were able to finish most of it, except for a few cast-off end pieces with thick wads of cheese enveloped by crust. And the Winner of the Clash of the Calzones Is … Slice of the Burg. A close call. I set aside my hours of poring over FFF’s sophisticated matrix of metrics and went with my gut on this one. The calzones had similar flavor profiles. Buona’s was more artisan, while SotB’s could’ve fed a table of four. If there was a single deciding factor, it was that SotB’s calzone had its meat and vegetables spread throughout the inside, leaving virtually nothing to discard. Ultimately, size didn’t matter much, but the whoah! factor at SotB induced a sudden frisson of delight that we’ll remember. And then there was the X factor: precocious Riley trying to stare me down.
Doh! Two Indie Donut Shops Duke It Out
As sweets go — and I love my sweets — donuts are way down on the list. They’re one of the few sugary things that I will actually walk by. I can’t remember the last time I went on a donut run. Which is not to say that I dislike them. They are, after all, sweet! A donut FFF proved to be trickier than I anticipated. Comparing one or even two donuts per shop seemed kind of skimpy. And, other than the basic types, it can be difficult to match them up. So here’s how we’ll do it: I chose four each from Fray’s Donut House and St. Pete Bagel Co., and paired them up as well as I could. (Before some of you start squawking about it not being a fair fight, SPBC has a good rep for donuts and an extensive selection.) I picked the donuts up in the noon hour on Tuesday, within about five minutes of each other, and brought them back to the FFF Lab & Photo Studio™ . I’ll give a short description of each donut, and at the end pick a winner between the two competitors. Then I’ll choose the winning shop. And, finally, I’ll crown the donut that I liked best overall. FRAY’S DONUT HOUSE At 12:30 p.m., I stopped at the flagship store on 16th Street North in St. Pete — which opened in 1993 — and ordered through the takeout window because the dining room was closed. Basic Cake Donut (no photo necessary) I figured I’d start out with a baseline between the two combatants — the boring, beige, round donut with a hole in the middle. This one was indeed boring, hardly sweet at all (Bonnie reminded me that they aren’t supposed to be). But it was pretty moist and had an agreeably cakey texture. Cream-Filled With Chocolate Frosting Too light on the cream. But when I arrived at it, after a couple of big bites, the filling was lush and pudding-esque. The donut body had the right flakey-vs.-cakey ratio. The chocolate topping didn’t make much of an impression, but then, in my donut experience, it rarely does. Chocolate-on-Chocolate While it didn’t taste as chocolaty as it looked, this one had an earthy flavor that downplayed the sweetness — in a good way. Big Brown Lumpy Thing I dug this apple-and-cinnamon beast. The crunchy exterior gave way to soft innards. A light glaze on top added some extra sweetness. The Big Brown Lumpy Thing has a donut name, I’m sure, but I’m sticking with what I have decided to call it. ST. PETE BAGEL CO. Fifteen minutes before close, SPBC, on 4th Street, had a decent selection of donuts remaining. While Fray’s put mine in a plain white bag, this store packaged them in a plain white box, closed it and taped it shut. Basic Cake Donut (no photo necessary) Boring, as expected. An appropriate lack of sweetness. Somewhat on the dry side. It had just a hint of spice — a spice that I couldn’t identify but could have done without. Cream-Filled with Chocolate Frosting While I give kudos to the white squiggle on top, this one was filled with whipped cream, uber-sweet whipped cream. That’s a non-starter. Pudding-esque is always better. Chocolate Glaze (vs. Chocolate-on-Chocolate at Fray’s) A gratifying blend of flavors. The glaze provided a pop of sweetness and some contrast to the chocolate base. Apple-Cinnamon Fritter (vs. the Big Brown Lumpy Thing at Fray’s) At least I think it’s called a fritter. The apple and cinnamon were well balanced, and I detected little bits of fruit. Could’ve been a bit more moist. Now to the Judging … Basic, Boring Cake Donut — Fray’s Cream-Filled With Chocolate Frosting — Fray’s Chocolate-on-Chocolate vs. Chocolate Glaze — SPBC Big Brown Lumpy Thing vs. Apple-Cinnamon Fritter — Fray’s (a close call; I liked both) Overall Winner — Fray’s My Overall Favorite Big Brown Lumpy Thing at Fray’s — Ain’t pretty, but sure is tasty.
A Game of Chicken—and Waffles: Dinner vs. Breakfast
Chicken and waffles, that unlikely collision of breakfast and dinner foods, never made sense to me — until I discovered how and where it was popularized. Starting in the late 1930s, Wells Supper Club in Harlem became a hot spot for wee-hours jazz jam sessions. The musicians arrived too late for dinner and too early for breakfast, so the restaurant devised a hybrid dish that recognized both meals. This origin story hits directly in my sweet spot. I’ve never ordered chicken and waffles. A bite or two taken off of other people’s plates didn’t wow me enough to get it for myself. That changes this week. I chose one dinner version — at Social Roost in downtown St. Pete — and one breakfast version: at Maple Street Biscuit Co., a breakfast/lunch chain founded in Jacksonville in 2012, with more than 60 locations, four of them in the Tampa Bay area. Unfortunately, neither place holds jazz jams at 3 a.m. But we forge on. SOCIAL ROOST A light rain made umbrellas optional as we crossed First Avenue North toward the restaurant on Wednesday at 6. The dining room, with the bar to the left, was sunk below the entrance — a cool touch. I’d describe Social Roost as a mid-upscale place. No white tablecloths, but the patio-style chairs were cloaked in green padding, making them uber-comfy. Most entrees are in the $20-$30 range. We sat at a four-top in the center of the dining room. Despite doing fairly robust business, Social Roost was not boomy in the least, allowing us comfortable conversation. We ordered Chicken & Waffles ($25) and a Baby Kale Caesar salad ($17) to split, and asked that the salad come out first. That didn’t happen. The entree arrived about a minute after the salad. Our attentive server, Cole, took the main plate to the kitchen and put it under heat. The chicken and waffles weren’t back there but five minutes because we inhaled the salad. Appearance We immediately understood why these Chicken & Waffles cost 25 bucks. The two boneless fried chicken breasts were enormous. They sat on a couple of prodigiously sized waffles, flanked by containers of maple syrup and bacon butter. Reflexively, I looked for a side of potatoes or rice or veggies, but quickly realized that the waffles were the side (or the bottom, as it were). Texture and Taste Sometimes mega-sized chicken breasts can be flavorless or chalky or both. Not so here. The bird was — to borrow a phrase — like buttah: impeccably tender, with an elegant breading that provided a modicum of crunch. The waffles were, likewise, first-rate — fluffy but not airy, with a hint of chewiness. As a chicken-and-waffles newbie, I developed a system: stack a piece of chicken and piece of waffle on the fork, dip into butter, pour on a dollop of syrup, insert into mouth. I happily kept at that for quite some time. Even so, Bonnie and I took about half a chicken breast home. A few words about the salad: the kale was hearty but not bitter, the dressing and cheese shavings did not overpower, but all told it was a bit on the skimpy side for seventeen smackers. MAPLE STREET BISCUIT CO. Less than 18 hours later, we were back at it. Glimpses of sunshine peeked through a bruised sky as we walked down First Avenue South with a stiff breeze at our backs. This store is located in St. Pete’s 600 block of Central Avenue, a former bohemian enclave with cheap rents that’s now stuffed with eateries. MSBC was bustling at 11:30 a.m. It was opening day for the Tampa Bay Rays, and quite a few folks were sporting team gear. (I didn’t see any Toronto Blue Jays garb, even though the maple leaf is part of the team logo.) We ordered at the counter: Chix & Waffle ($13.25), a Flaky Biscuit ($2.50) for Bonnie, and two self-serve, bottomless coffees ($3.25). We sat at a two-top and waited. And waited — to the point of discomfort (we hadn’t eaten). As the wait time ticked close to the 30-minute mark, I inquired about our order and a kitchen guy said it would be out in five minutes. They at least made good on that. Appearance The ratio of chicken to waffle was heavily skewed to waffle, but at 53% of the price of Social Roost, the value seemed comparable. The plastic container of syrup was precariously tilted, as if to say, “Pour me. Now.” (We’d need another container, which wasn’t easy to obtain.) Texture and Taste The chicken came out hot — a welcome surprise. It was tender and succulent, with a hint of spicy heat. The Asiago-Bacon waffle was a bit lighter and fluffier than the competition’s. I couldn’t detect the flavor notes that the menu touted. This dish called for a different delivery system: Pour syrup onto waffles, cut a piece of waffle, then a piece of chicken, stack on fork and insert into mouth. This worked very well, too. Bonnie had a few bites — she approved — and I finished the meal. And the Winner of Our Game of Chicken—and Waffles: Dinner vs. Breakfast Is … Social Roost. This bout could arguably be called a draw. Both versions punched above their weight. Both offered considerable value. The deciding point was the service. A half-hour-plus wait in a fast-casual restaurant is unacceptable, especially when you’ve been thus far unfed. MSBC had a clever way of delivering their orders. Rather than have a server bring the food out, or holler out a name or number, the counter guy asked customers their favorite vacation destination. The kitchen would call out the destination name, announcing that the order was ready. Rather than being racked by indecision, I quickly chose London. As the minutes wore on and my stomach complained, it felt like I was on a flight to London.
Got a Lotta Empanadas: A Bay Area Chain vs. a Gulfport Stand-Alone
I’ve always thought of empanadas as gut-torpedoes, and therefore avoided them. That bias may be based on eating one and grabbing for the Tums, or eating none and just assuming. I can’t recall. Either way, it’s time to give this staple street food of the Latin diaspora a genuine chance. The simple pastry filled with savory stuff, fried or baked, date backs to the 1500s in the Galicia region of Spain. Our two competitors, appropriately named: Mr. Empanada, with five locations in Tampa and one in St. Pete, is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. Its opponent, Julio’s Empanadas in Gulfport, is approaching one year in business. MR. EMPANADA With presumably the last cold front of the season moving in on Monday at 5:30, we walked through stiff winds to enter this no-frills place at MLK Street and 4th Avenue South in St. Pete. As we perused the menu board, a man seated at a nearby table asked amiably, “First time here?” “Yessir,” I replied. “The Buffalo Chicken is really good,” he said, and assured me that the flavor was not too strong. “Try the spinach one, too.” After exchanging some pleasantries, he left us with a last bit of advice. “They come out hot. Hot hot.” A fleeting thought crossed my mind: “This must be Mr. Empanada. Wouldn’t it be cool if every location had one?” We ordered three empanadas ($3.49 each): Buffalo Chicken and Bleu Cheese; Spinach, Artichoke and Cheese; and Beef and Cheese. We tacked on a bowl of Spanish Bean Soup ($4.99). Appearance Each empanada came encased in a small paper bag, but we knew not to expect much of a reveal because every empanada ever made is brown and crescent-shaped. The soup came in a styrofoam bowl. Heeding the hot-hot warning, I gingerly cut each empanada in half with a plastic knife. The fillings oozed out, but not so much as to make a mess. Texture and Taste Our man Mr. Empanada’s recommendations were spot-on. The shredded Buffalo chicken was mildly flavored and melded nicely with the bleu cheese. The spinach, artichoke and (mozzarella) cheese made for a sumptuous combo, particularly because the spinach was tender, not stringy. (It burned my mouth, slightly.) The beef and (white American) cheese came in third, by quite a bit. None of the empanadas were spicy, although they weren’t bland. I was concerned that the shell would be crunchy, but it was more the texture of pie crust — a bit crackly on the edges, softer next to the fillings. The soup was legit, with a potent flavor of Spanish ham. We were in and out of Mr. Empanada (the restaurant) in 25 minutes. JULIO’S EMPANADAS We pulled up at Julio’s, a converted gas station at 49th Street and 22nd Avenue South, at 3 p.m. on Tuesday, the air crisp and fresh. The simple interior had a large drink cooler, a few tables and a counter at one end. I was concerned at first because a whole bunch of empanadas were arrayed behind glass in a tiered warmer, suggesting that the server would simply pull one out and hand it over. That’s probably an option for someone on the go, but we chose from the menu and, thankfully, the kitchen made ours to order. The empanadas come Regular or Grande. We ordered three Regulars: Beef ($5.25), Chicken ($5.25) and Roasted Vegetable ($4.95). Appearance I was a tad surprised at how small these empanadas were — about the same size as those at Mr. Empanada, while costing at least 25% more. They looked more delicate, as well. Texture and Taste Who knew empanadas could be so different? Unlike Mr. Empanada’s, the fillings were well-defined, in large part because none of them contained cheese. The tasty ground beef was chunky and mildly spiced. The chicken breast meat was moist and supple, the antithesis of pre-cooked “mall chicken.” The roasted vegetables consisted of large chunks of peppers, onion and zucchini. The individual flavors in each of these empanadas stood out on their own. The crust was splendidly pie-like. All of these elements were amplified by a terrific, house-made dipping sauce — medium hot, with hefty chunks of onion. And the Winner of the Got a Lotta Empanadas Taste-Off Is … Julio’s. I enjoyed both restaurants’ versions, but Julio’s empanadas had a more artisan touch. Bonnie summed up the experience when she mused, “I like empanadas.” So do I.
A Ceviche Skirmish: Tapas Bar vs. Tavern
Ahh, we’re getting’ hoity-toity now. Ceviche, the national dish of Peru — raw seafood “cooked” in citrus juices along with vegetables. I’ve chosen it for Food Fight largely because of a wedding reception we attended on the beach of Grand Cayman last year that served ceviche as an appetizer. I had little experience with the dish, and was so gobsmacked by it that I stole one from another table. Just as I was furtively hunting for another, the rains came. I left that wedding weekend with the resolute understand that, “damn, I like ceviche.” But would I like it back on my home turf? As it happens, ceviche is not that easy to find in local restaurants. One patently obvious choice: Ceviche Tapas Bar & Restaurant on Beach Drive in St. Pete. For contrast, I also selected The Galley, a nautically named tavern a few blocks west that touts an elevated, seafood-centric menu. A fair fight? We’ll see. CEVICHE At 4:30 on Wednesday, we chose to sit on the covered veranda. The mercury was the mid-70s and a light breeze wafted through — so, y’know, perfect. In early 2021, Ceviche moved a few blocks north from its longtime spot on the ground floor of the Ponce de Leon hotel. For what it’s worth, I prefer the current location (which used to be the home of the British pub Moon Under Water). Our server arrived quickly. We ordered Ceviche Casa ($15) and Pan con Tomate ($9), grilled bread with tomato confit. Appearance The Ceviche arrived with in less than five minutes, but there was no sign of the Pan con Tomate. I would have preferred them to be served together, but I didn’t specify. The ceviche came in a small bowl, with plump shrimp sticking up next to slices of dried banana (or plantain), lolling in a pool of citrusy juice. Texture and Taste Ceviche is not cooked, per se. Marinating it in the citrus juice releases its proteins — a process called denaturation — which has a similar effect to cooking. End of lesson. All of the seafood in this ceviche — which included the shrimp, market fish, squid and scallops (albeit small pieces) — was tender, save for the squid, which has a rubbery texture that I’ve never been able to get past. The juice played the starring role — tart but not to the point of puckery, and emboldened by a little something extra that gave it a touch of spicy heat. After a couple forkfuls, I went with the spoon, a savvy move that allowed me to scoop up more juice to join the seafood. The bread dish came out when we were more than halfway done with the ceviche. No matter. There would be no dipping. Let’s just say that the Pan con Tomate was not what we expected. It looked and tasted like a mini-flatbread pizza, a dry one at that. The Galley This place is wedged into a weathered block on 4th Street between Central and 1st Avenue North. The only sign I saw was on the door. The Galley’s web designer has created an online presence that’s far more upscale than the real thing. That’s a slippery slope, though, because it invites disappointment — as was the case with us. We passed on the sidewalk tables — too much 4th Street traffic noise — in favor of a round indoor table with a wooden bench by the window. The hard-cover menus, separate ones for food and drink, had tattered edges. The Ceviche ($15.99) came with tortilla chips, but we added toast points for two bucks because I still hoped to do some dipping. Appearance Served in a martini glass with a lime wedge, the ceviche looked kind of cute. It was readily apparent, however, that the chunky Cuban-bread toast points would not be needed. Texture and Taste The juice had a distinctly orange flavor, which proved detrimental. The menu says lime juice, but that’s not what I tasted. Plus, the juice had no discernible spice. Pooled on the bottom of the glass, the stuff was hard to reach anyway. The bigger — biggest — problem: not enough seafood. The glass lacked a single whole shrimp, and the pieces of grouper were few and far between. This ceviche consisted mostly of tomato, pepper and onion. And the Winner of the Ceviche Skirmish Is … Imagine me on stage at the Oscars opening the envelope for an award that’s a foregone conclusion [say, Oppenheimer]. Ceviche. You can certainly make the argument that this FFF was a blatant mismatch. And I can buy that. Let me add, though, that The Galley’s online menu made the place, and the dish, look like a contender. And … The Galley’s version cost 99 cents more.
Can These Two Restaurants Make Meatloaf That’s Better than Homemade?
Like most middle-class baby boomers, I grew up on meatloaf. I’ve continued to devour it regularly, have never gotten tired of it. Now, my meatloaf ardor comes with a couple of conditions: (1) Meatloaf is always better when made at home. (2) Meatloaf is always better with gravy, not a sauce, a glaze, a demi, or what have you. I’m breaking with those two maxims this week: (1) Eating meatloaf in restaurants, (2) neither of which serves the dish with gravy, per their menus. I’ve chosen two markedly different establishments to square off: Glory Days Grill is a sports bar with eight Tampa Bay area locations; Birch & Vine is a fine-dining restaurant on the bottom floor of a boutique hotel on upscale Beach Drive in St. Pete. Basic vs. fancy. Moderately priced vs. pricey. Let’s hope these contrasts make for a good battle. GLORY DAYS GRILL Even though Glory Days is just five miles north of my home in St. Pete, I’ve never been. And that’s partly because I assumed it was named after a 1984 hit by Bruce Springsteen. Unlike nearly all of my baby-boomer brethren, I’ve never heeded The Boss’s call — and “Glory Days” is probably his song that irritates me most. After entering the restaurant on Monday at 6:30, I was pleased to not confront any iconography or tribute or (especially) aural evidence of the tune. So, a good start. Bonnie and I sat in a cushy booth. A few feet away, at a table near the bar, two senior gents played chess (see above photo) — a Rockwellian image that I found utterly charming, and made the large space feel damn near homey. Glory Days was a lot nicer than we expected. Even though the walls were coated in big-screen TVs with vivid color, the place somehow maintained a certain intimacy. Our server acted like she was glad to be there. I ordered Mr. Richard’s Meatloaf ($15), with mashed potatoes and baked beans (The only green side dish was steamed broccoli. Nah.) Appearance While I knew not to expect a pool of luscious brown gravy, this meatloaf entree looked pretty naked. A thin glaze of Glory Days Grilling Sauce™ — trademarked, so it must be special — covered the meat. So thin that I asked my server for some extra. I also didn’t expect grill marks on the two slabs of loaf, but that didn’t prejudice me one way or the other. Texture and Taste Made with ground beef and pork, this meatloaf was a little too firm for my liking. It had a chewy crust — I knife-cut a few bites — and vaguely smokey flavor that I attributed to grilling. In all, this meatloaf was pretty tasty, and I appreciated the crunchy bits of green pepper and onion. I was not, however, a fan of the Glory Days Grilling Sauce™. It was BBQ-esque and too sweet. The basic mashed potatoes worked well with the loaf. But after a while they became a little bland, as you’d expect, so — in lieu of gravy — I asked the server for some butter. She gladly obliged and brought it out quickly. The potatoes had remained just warm enough for some agreeable yellow meltage. Kudos to the baked beans. Their not-so-secret ingredient: bacon. I’m off bacon these days but was okay with a one-night cheat. BIRCH & VINE On Wednesday at 6 p.m., with a light drizzle coming down, there was no parking to be found on Beach Drive. The valet line was backed up, so we opted for a nearby garage and grabbed our umbrellas. We arrived at Birch & Vine nicely dry. The tables on the covered patio were full, but the main dining room indoors had seating aplenty. The host showed us to one of those arc-shaped booths that hold six, allowing me and Bonnie to sit next to each other. Cozy. My Meatloaf ($28) came with buttermilk mashed potatoes, wild mushrooms and asparagus, and a “Bacon-Fig Demi” sauce. We ordered a cup of cheddar broccoli soup ($7) and I got a 3 Daughters Beach Blonde Ale ($7) — from the tap, thank you. As per usual with fine-dining restaurants, the dish was elegantly arrayed on a bigger-than-necessary plate. Still, all the accoutrements couldn’t overcome the dark, drab appearance of two loaf pucks. On a hopeful note, the brown sauce looked suspiciously like gravy. Texture and Taste I had to use some force to fork-cut a bite of the meatloaf. Made with ribeye and pork, it was coarsely textured and took some extra effort to chew. Bonnie and I examined the loaf closely and could detect no other ingredients — not breading, not peppers, not onions. We agreed that, as far as we could determine, this meatloaf was essentially two well-done burgers, without any of the juiciness. So — not meatloaf at all, as least as we know it. The sauce really helped. Know why? It was pretty much like gravy — albeit sweeter and richer. As for as the rest, the potato was pureed and there was too little of it. I’m not a mushroom eater, although I took a couple of bites, which reminded me that I’m still not a mushroom eater. The asparagus was too chewy. Kudos to the flavorful soup, which Bonnie and I scooped up in about five minutes. So Could Either One of These Restaurants Make Meatloaf That’s Better Than Homemade? A resounding no. And nowhere near as good as. But I’ll pick a winner anyway: Glory Days. Pairing Glory Days’ loaf with Birch & Vine’s gravy-like sauce would’ve made for a solid combo. Postscript: After we finished our meal at Birch & Vine, the server asked what we thought. That opened the door for our critique about how the meatloaf failed — or better yet, how it was not really meatloaf, at least by commonly held standards. The front-of-house manager, Michael, joined the good-natured discussion, all of it couched in constructive criticism. (Our suspicion
Beyond Impossible: Two Restaurants, Two Types of Meatless Burgers
A few years ago, when two plant-based meat products with lofty names hit the market, promising to taste more like actual meat, Bonnie bought some and cooked up burgers at home. I don’t recall whether she got Beyond or Impossible Burger, but I do recall it did not go well. We haven’t tried that again. Still, I’ve remained curious about faux burgers, and have long wanted to try restaurant versions — if for no other reason to see if I can find one that tastes like actual meat. I found two burger restaurants that offer plant-based alternatives, with a bonus: Burger Monger — with three Bay area locations — uses Impossible Burger; Engine No. 9 in St. Pete’s Edge District goes Beyond. So we get a double comparison: restaurants and products. Before we begin, Impossible and Beyond burgers contain very different ingredients — and a lot of them — but I won’t delve into that here. BURGER MONGER When we arrived at 7 p.m. on Monday, this fast-casual restaurant on 4th Street was doing a solid business. The counter service was a little slow, but that wasn’t the fault of the server as much as the fact that she needed help. I ordered my Impossible Burger ($10.99) with grilled onions, tomato and pickles. I also got a single order of Fries ($3.99) and a Chocolate Fudge (hand-spun) Milkshake ($5.49). The server assured me that it was a basic chocolate shake, which is what I wanted. We sat at a two-top and waited for our orders to come out — which they did in two white paper bags. I liked the relaxed ambience of this place. The sizzle from the open kitchen was the only music. Appearance It wasn’t packaged to impress, but the plant-based meat on the bun looked the part of a regular burger. The milkshake came as vanilla with a chocolate swirl, which is precisely what I didn’t want but resulted from an apparent miscommunication. The counter person said she’d take it back and have it mixed into a basic chocolate shake. The ketchup dispenser was empty and there were no packets around. Neither were there any salt or pepper packets. We had to wait for the server to bring them to our table. Texture and Taste I was giving Burger Monger mixed reviews up to this point. And then I took a bite of the Impossible Burger. Guess what? Tasted like meat. For real. While the patty didn’t have the pink center that I’ve seen in some faux-burger photos, it did possess the pebbly texture of cooked ground beef. It even boasted a char — one that I could taste. I offered Bonnie a bite and she agreed with my take. I took a bite of her Steakhouse Monger and actually preferred my meatless version. I ate the entirety of my Impossible Burger with frequent nods of approval and a few mmmmm‘s. The fries — skinny, moist, hot — were terrific. The shake. Ehhhh. Take a look at the photo at right and decide if that’s a chocolate shake or not. While the silky liquid flowed easily through the straw, the chocolate flavor was rather faint (whereas I like it potent). Plus, there was way too much whipped cream, which further muted the chocolate. But I really shouldn’t be haranguing about a substandard milkshake when this Impossible Burger was a revelation. Making faux meat taste like a real burger is … possible. ENGINE NO. 9 At 6:30 p.m. on Wednesday, our party of five had a brief wait at the bar of this St. Pete mainstay, after which we were seated in the far back corner of the full dining room. The place was dark and warmer than I would’ve liked — a bit stuffy — but the din was minimal. We had to turn our voices up, but only a little. At Engine No. 9, you can sub in Beyond Burger for any their signature offerings. Or build your own, which I did — one patty (instead of the standard two), grilled onions, tomato and pickle. I chose fries as my side for a total of $11.95. I also got a Red Ale ($7) from Leaven Brewing out of Riverview. Appearance Engine No. 9 served its faux-burger meal like any respectable full-service casual restaurant should — on a plate. The fries stood upright in a chrome container. A pile of grilled onions looked fetching, but obscured the burger beneath. Texture and Taste While this faux burger tasted beef-ish, it ultimately gave itself away as a meat substitute. It had a hint of unwanted flavor that I’ll call chemical-ish. The patty’s texture was legit, and there were even areas of pink, although, importantly, this burger lacked an exterior char. The real disappointment was the bun. Perfectly round and tall, it was like something AI would create if you plugged in “hamburger bun.” The bread was overly fluffy and flat-flavored. I checked with my dining companions, all of whom had gotten beef burgers, and they agreed that the bun was ho-hum. The fries — crispy on the outside and seasoned — were not the type I prefer, but all in all they were fine. Shout out to the Leaven Red. The draft was hearty but not overbearing. And the Winner of the Beyond Impossible Two-Restaurant Challenge Is … I’m pleased to announce that it’s possible for me to pick a clear-cut winner. Burger Monger (Impossible Burger). A few final thoughts: While I may have been impressed by the beefy flavor of The Impossible Burger at Monger, I’m still not ready to have it replace the real stuff. And I suspect that’d be the case with most other omnivores. (It’s expensive, I’m told.) I looked up health comparisons between faux burgers and beef burgers, and I concluded that faux burgers don’t provide clear-cut benefits. (They’re highly processed.) Here’s an informative article laying out the pros and cons of each. I checked with a few of my vegan friends,
Ranking Girl Scout Cookies—Great Cause, But Are They Any Good?
I’m apparently part of a small minority of Americans who’ve never been gaga over Girl Scout Cookies. Bonnie informed me that some decades ago she’d been the “cookie mom” for my daughter’s Girl Scout troop and would store stacks of boxes in the house. I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t remember that. I guess I never raided the stash. Then it occurred to me: I’ve tried Girl Scout Cookies and didn’t much like them. I know Thin Mints, and maybe one having to do with Samoa (Samosas?). So I’m essentially a blank slate when it comes to Girl Scout Cookies, and that makes me uniquely qualified to evaluate them in the year 2024. We’re in the thick of Girl Scout cookie season, which runs between January and April. My colleagues procured five types (of 12 available) for me. I tasted them in one sitting at the FFF Lab™. My accompanying beverage was 2% milk. The boxes cost $6 per pack and were sold by Cora and Emma of Troops 61127 and 61106. Before we begin, a disclaimer: I fully support the sale, distribution and consumption of Girl Scout Cookies. For this exercise, I’m assessing and ranking them strictly on flavor and quality. LEMON-UPS The cutest of them all — sunny discs etched with inspirational sayings. They were crispy-crumbly. The lemon flavor could’ve been more potent. TAGALONGS A smooth, milk-chocolate exterior gave way to a bit of peanut butter filling surrounded by crackly cookie. The stubby little things blended their flavors together pretty well. They’d be better with a dark chocolate covering. TREFOILS These are the kind of dainty morsels you should have at afternoon tea and eat with your pinkie out. They started to crumble at my touch. A basic shortbread cookie that didn’t make much of a flavor impression — but maybe that’s the point. SAMOAS I remember these! The coconut, the dark chocolate swirls, caramel that politely takes a backseat. Moist and chewy, relative to the other ones I tried here, with a flavor that bordered on complex. These Samoas seemed smaller than I remember. Two bites max, unless you’re a nibbler. THIN MINTS It’s not overstating it to call these cookies iconic. The minty aroma hit my nose as soon as I opened the package. Fortunately, the peppermint flavor was not overbearing and worked well with dark chocolate shell. They weren’t as thin as I remembered. Okay, time to rank: 1 — Samoas 2 — Thin Mints 3 — Lemon-ups 4 — Tagalongs 5 — Trefoils My unscientific conclusion is that most people don’t buy Girl Scout Cookies for the flavor or quality. Any grocery store aisle, let alone bakery, offers cookies that are better and cost less. People buy them to help out the kids. And, man, does it work. The organization says that, during the season, Girl Scouts sell enough boxes to bring in $800 million. If astute readers noticed that I tasted five types of Girl Scout Cookies but the lead photo shows only four boxes, that is because our esteemed publisher, Mr. Thomas L. duPont, could not resist opening the Lemon-Ups and thus ruin the package.
Which Restaurant Slings the Best Singapore Noodles?
Like most of you, I’ve had countless types of noodles — from lasagna to bean thread — doused in sauces ranging from marinara to Thai peanut. Until recently, though, I’d never knowingly had Singapore noodles (or Singapore Mei Fun). The name sounds tantalizing. It’s time. Singapore noodles didn’t originate in Singapore, a small country at the southern tip of Malaysia that consists of 63 islands. Most sources agree that the stir-fry dish was probably created in Hong Kong. The best explanation I could find was that, after WWII, Cantonese chefs were eager to use the curry powder introduced via British colonies, and named it Singapore noodles as a nod to the cosmopolitan nature of both city-states. There’s no absolute recipe, but the basics include rice vermicelli, curry powder, vegetables, and a protein — usually prawns, pork or chicken. I found two Asian restaurants with Singapore noodles on the menu: The Glass Noodle and Hawkers: Asian Street Food, which are six blocks apart on Central Avenue in St. Pete. THE GLASS NOODLE Both garage-style doors were open when our dining quartet arrived at 7 p.m. on a Wednesday. It was our first visit. The brightly lit interior had several big-screen TVs showing nature scenes, a design choice that I found a bit odd. We settled into a small four-top. The Glass Noodle, which opened in January of ’23, takes a decidedly pan-Asian tack, with noodle soups and dishes, rice dishes, and appetizers. The noodle entrees emanate from eight Asian countries, including Laos and Cambodia. All well and good, but I was on a mission for Singapore Noodles ($17.95, with chicken). We added an order of Crispy Veggie Spring Rolls ($5.95), and I got a can of 3 Daughters Beach Blonde Ale ($5). (They didn’t have it on draft, sigh.) This dish looked attractive enough, although the noodles were larger and flatter than prescribed. The pieces of chicken were big — and bigger is not always better. Texture and Taste The menu said this dish included Indian curry powder, but the chef must’ve been feeling stingy that night because I couldn’t detect much spice at all, much less Indian curry. The chunks of chicken breast were dry(ish) and burdened by a thick grain that made for chewy bites. Kind of like Asian “mall chicken.” I left a considerable pile on the plate. The noodles were fine, although I would’ve much preferred them skinnier. The sauce, more like a glaze, did not much of an impression. In all, this helping of Singapore noodles didn’t take me anywhere. HAWKERS On Wednesday just after 3 p.m, it was 70 degrees under azure skies — the kind of weather that makes traffic brutal this time of year, although we did find a parking spot less than a block away. We chose a table in the covered patio. A potpourri of “classic” pop hits spilled out of the speakers. When “Danger Zone” came on, my first instinct was to run down Central holding my ears. I didn’t. The restaurant has a vast pan-Asian menu consisting of mostly small plates. Along with Singapore Mei Fun ($14), I ordered Spring Rolls ($5) and a ginger ale, which turned out to be the Fever Tree brand ($4). And no trip to Hawkers would be complete without a round of Roti Canai (Malaysian-style, $9). Appearance This looked like the Singapore noodles I expected. Thin rice noodles — unsauced — were flecked with curry dust, with pieces of chicken (not big), veggies and scrambled egg mixed in. The plate was small, but the portion was not. Texture and Taste I’m so accustomed to eating Asian dishes coated in sauce that this dry noodle dish was a welcome change of pace. The noodles stole the show — as it should be, don’t you think? They were stir-fried to a slight chewiness, and the yellow Malaysian curry gave them a bold flavor, without a spicy kick. The crunchy bits, especially the red pepper, added delight to the bites, and the egg was just present enough. The chicken was moist and tender but basically flavor neutral. A few words about the Roti Canai: Do yourself a flavor and get some of this. I have — many times. The flat-bread roti had a pastry-like quality — flaky, with a slight crispiness on the outside, moist on the inside. Tearing off chunks and dipping them is part of the fun. And then the payoff: The curry sauce — a brown nectar, heaven-sent — is what takes this bread dish from really good to truly memorable. I never forget to get it. And the Restaurant That Slings the Best Singapore Noodles Is … I think I’ve pretty much given it away. Hawkers. Its version struck me as authentic, but regardless, it was delicious. I’m definitely going back for more. My sense is that Singapore noodles have a fairly liberal set of parameters, but The Glass Noodle version fell well outside of them. I’m no expert, but they didn’t strike me as Singapore noodles at all.
Four Bakeries Compete In a Chocolate Chip Cookie Clash
Is there such thing as a bad chocolate chip cookie? Not in my experience, at least thus far. And on the flip side, what’s the difference between a merely good one and a really good one? We’re about to find out. Rather than doing a one-on-one Food Fight this week, I opted to feature three local bakeries and a grocery chain. I’ll pick a winner and rank the rest. I rounded up the cookies and toted them back to the FFF Lab™, piled them on a plate and started sampling. Tough duty, I know. I took bites in a random sequence, circled back and took more bites. My accompanying beverage was 2% milk. BAKE ‘N BABES This small kiosk in the Armature Works food court in Tampa offers a limited menu of sweets, and proudly touts its Salted Chocolate Chip Cookie ($4). The big round beast came in a cute pink bag with the brand logo. Intrigued by how thick the cookie was, I broke out the FFF Tape Measure™. Three-quarters of an inch. I brushed off the salt on top. No need for that. Once I bit past the outer crust, I found the innards too dense. It took work to chew and swallow — a cookie version of eating taffy. Overall, the salt was too present, even without the granules on top. THE BREAD ARTISANS BAKERY This strip-mall small shop in St. Pete is a secret that’s beyond well kept. I drive by it all the time, and had not seen nor heard of the place. To make matters worse, the top of the storefront is off-white, no signage, and has been that way for quite some time, according to the counter man. Inside, the place was barren — a bakery counter and a couple of tables. Still, Bread Artisans has been open seven years. Perhaps I’d stumbled on a hidden gem. Uh, no. These were the smallest and least expensive ($1.50) of the cookie contestants. I bought a couple. I can best describe the flavor as: strange. Plus they were dry, even sandy, and left a vaguely unpleasant aftertaste. Too few chips, too. Perhaps Bread Artisans should stick to bread. There were a few loaves in the case, and they looked pretty good. So, yes, there is such thing as a bad chocolate chip cookie. FRESH MARKET The woman at the bakery counter told me that Fresh Market bakes its cookies in-store, although the dough is made elsewhere. The Giant Chocolate Chunk ($2.50) was true to its name. I’ll describe this one as solid — slightly on the dry side, but not crispy. The flavor was fine but didn’t wow me. Plus, it was a bit too heavy on the chips. Still and all, I’d certainly eat one again. CASSIS This restaurant/bakery in downtown St. Pete was my last stop, so I bought two ($2.25 each). Back at the Lab, I broke out the FFF Tape Measure™. Five eighths of an inch thick. This cookie was darker than the rest. Hmm, I mused: What could this portend? I took a bite. Moist, chewy — but not overly — with sublime chocolate chunks in just the right measure. Now, here was a cookie that wowed me. I finished one, then chomped into the other. I’d concluded my testing and was well full, but continued to munch and chase with milk. I finally managed to stop myself, saving a few bites for later. And the Winner of the Four Bakeries Cookie Clash Is … Need I even write it? Cassis. Here’s how the others ranked: 2. Fresh Market 3. Bake ‘N Babes 4. The Bread Artisans Bakery